


Eidolon

by RogueLioness



Series: Tales of the Wolf's Heart [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Inspired by the Dragon Age teaser trailer, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueLioness/pseuds/RogueLioness
Summary: Lavellan discovers something new in her search for Solas.
Relationships: Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Fen’Harel | Solas/Female Inquisitor
Series: Tales of the Wolf's Heart [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/764784
Kudos: 6





	Eidolon

She hunts.

Neria does not know the Fade as well as the prey she seeks, yet she strides through its mists, sure-footed like the mountain goats. Her eyes dart around, searching, seeking even the faintest of threads that will lead her to him.

Cole steps out of a particularly dense patch of fog, his hat slung low on his forehead, one hand stretched out towards her. “This way,” he says in that low, soft way of his.

She takes his hand, and lets him guide her. The mist is cold, and though she’s dreaming, it slaps and stings at her skin in warning, and she knows she intrudes on his dreams. Her heart hammers wildly, her body held as taut as a fist, and she keeps waiting for him to step out of the shadows, to confront her, to wordlessly stare at her for several heartbeats before sending her back - or worse, before whispering those two words she hates.

_ Wake up _ .

The echo of his voice, of those words, swirl around her. She clenches her jaw, grits her teeth against the instinct that tells her to turn around and flee.

She will not. She will not!

The mist suddenly gives way, depositing her at the mouth of a dark cave. She looks around for Cole, but finds the lad nowhere to be seen. “ _ Go _ ,” he whispers in her ear. “ _ I will keep watch _ .”

_ Keep watch _ ? she wonders, even as she stumbles towards the opening.  _ For what _ ? She presses a palm to the walls, using it as a guide to make her way cautiously through the uneven floor, the faint hiss of her leather boots in this dreamscape far too loud for her liking.

Neria doesn’t know how long she walks for, but her patience is rewarded when she sees rays of golden light spilling onto the floor. Around her, the walls have been painted gold - a gold so bright she has to squint against the opulence of it all. But that is not what takes her breath away, or has her shuddering unconsciously with fear. It is the red splashed against it, a red so deep it reminds her of tainted crystal, a color that is clearly not meant to be present - and it, it is. It has been used to draw images of demons and darkspawn and the wall in front of her has a large fresco of an entire city, all in red and outlined in pitch black - and at the heart of it all, looming down at her with six irregular eyes and a blood-filled snarl is-

A single ray of light floods the room, illuminating a lone figure standing, his hand pressed to the wall.

She inhales sharply.

The Dread Wolf turns.

He wears no fur, dressed instead in beautifully supple leather, inlaid with hammered metal and in a style unfamiliar to her. A high collar stops short of skimming his jaw. His face is familiar and strange and beloved, and Neria presses a fist to her mouth to keep herself from crying.

His face is set, but his eyes look so tired, and so sad.

For several moments, they stare at each other. She’s certain he can hear the rapid beats of her heart - it practically echoes in the closed space. Dust motes, illuminated by torchlight, drift through the space between them.

His stillness has her moving. She takes a step towards him, 

“You should not be here,” his voice is carefully blank.

She tries to smile, but it is a poor imitation of one. “Where should I be,  _ ma lath _ ?”

His face crumples for a split second at the endearment before the mask falls into place once more. “This is no longer your story,  _ vhenan _ . Do not follow me. It is far too dangerous.”

Neria takes another step towards him, but before she can take a third, a barrier springs up between them. She does not flinch at it; she knows he will not hurt her. She presses the tips of her fingers to the magic there. It feels so much like the Anchor she closes her eyes and exhales, before looking up at Solas again. “No,” she says simply.

His eyes flash. “Do not be so foolish!” he hisses. She can see the panic in his eyes. “This is no longer your fight!”

“That may be so,” she agrees, raising her left arm. Her prosthetic is there, sturdy silverite with its veins of bright lyrium blue. She presses the palm of it to the barrier, willing the magic to dispel. To her pleasure, it does, and she takes the step that was previously denied to her. “But you know me better than to believe I would be content to remain hidden away, Solas.” She lets her eyes roam across the murals, gathering what information she can. A figure on the left, in red, looks like Knight Commander Meredith. The one on the right resembles Corypheus. 

The corners of his lips turn upwards the slightest bit in a rueful sort of grimaced smile. “I do.”

Her attention is drawn to the larger figures in black. She thinks they look like demons, but she’s never seen anything like it before. The sight of them sends a swathe of ice running down her spine, raising gooseflesh in its wake. They look forbidding, ominous, malevolent in ways even Corypheus was not.

And they are merely drawings. What would happen if they were  _ real _ ?

Solas follows her gaze. Neria doesn’t see the way his eyes widen in alarm, or the way his brows knit together in worry. She’s trying to identify the city in the mural when he’s suddenly in front of her, blocking her view. “No,” he says more firmly, more urgently. “This is not your fight, Neria. This is not your concern. Please,  _ vhenan _ , stay away.” Then, before she can even think to argue, his hand is pressed to her cheek, thumb so softly, so gently stroking her skin. “I must insist you  _ wake up _ .”

Her eyes fly open. The bedroll offers little protection against the hardness of the ground. She can feel stones and twigs poking into her back. Her brain feels so sluggish, yet it rapidly swirls with the images she’s seen, a hurricane of red and black and gold with Solas in the eye. She breathes in and out, letting her breath even out to a calmer pace, before she gets up and swings her feet onto the floor.

Solas is wrong. It might not be her fight, but he will always be her concern.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, three seconds of Solas in new, fancy armor and I'm _**gone**_. [He makes Vivienne and Dorian look like apostate hobos!]
> 
> [as an aside: anyone else think about how you definitely won't be able to romance Solas in DA4? I mean, yes for new love interests, but how am I meant to play a dragon age game and _not_ romance the egg?]


End file.
